


Stabilize

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Affection, Anger, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Murder, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Caring, Dying Dark, Eventual Happy Ending, Exhaustion, Help, In which I refuse to accept that Dark and Wilford are gone, Introspection, Loss of Control, Major Character Injury, Mark is definitely pulling a big one this time, Multiple Selves, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Power Dynamics, Queerplatonic Dark/Host - Freeform, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rescue, Support, Threats of Violence, Trust, compassion - Freeform, light banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Mark insists that Dark and Wilford are dead and gone. In reality, Wilford's in critical condition, but Dr. Iplier is getting him stabilized. Dark, however...Dark is dying. Dr. Iplier can't help him now.A pair of hands, blurred in Dark’s dying eyes, reached through his spiraling aura, seizing him by the shoulders and pulling him to his feet by sheer force, crushing him against their owner’s chest. Dark clutched at his friend’s coat, overtaken by the scent of blood and sweat. So familiar.“The Host will not let this happen,” his friend breathed, harsh and heavy between clenched teeth, his fingers digging into the back of Dark’s neck. “Darkiplier gave to the Host, he gave a portion of his strength when the Host was discontinued. The Host will not let him die.”





	Stabilize

Dark shuddered, breath trembling past cold, dry lips as he clung to the edge of his desk, trying to force himself upright. His weak legs wouldn’t hold him and all of Dark’s senses were buzzing so violently that he could hardly tell if his hand was properly flat on the desk at all. Every time he shifted, his stomach turned the opposite direction and this time, it finally sent bile and blood pouring in and out of his throat, making a mess of his knees as he doubled over.

The blow Mark had made against him today was meant to kill him; he knew that much. The loyalest of his followers, Mark’s fans who he had managed to turn, had fought for him and for Wilford. His old friend was currently in critical condition on one of Dr. Iplier’s medical slabs, but Dark had refused Dr. Iplier’s care. This wasn’t a battle Iplier could help him with. 

If he was honest, there were several times that consciousness had slipped ever so tauntingly out of his grasp and he was inevitably surprised when it drifted back to him. He didn’t expect it to return many more times, he mused exhaustedly as he gave up on standing and slumped low against the back wall. Thin, spidery cracks crawled through the plaster as the density of his aura put pressure on it. 

He’d never feared death. He had fought for so long to survive; it was his purpose, but he had never  _feared_ the opposite. Now, however, in this moment, his aura’s smoky blackness was tinged with pale blue as a chord struck. There was so much more he was meant to do. He didn’t fear his own death, but he feared the aftermath. He feared the idea of Mark thriving at his expense. Mark  _didn’t deserve_  it.

It didn’t seem as if he would be there to prevent—

A pair of hands, blurred in Dark’s dying eyes, reached through his spiraling aura, seizing him by the shoulders and pulling him to his feet by sheer force, crushing him against their owner’s chest. Dark clutched at his friend’s coat, overtaken by the scent of blood and sweat. So familiar.

“H-Hh—” he rasped. Why was his throat closing? Why couldn’t he speak his name?

“The Host will not let this happen,” his friend breathed, harsh and heavy between clenched teeth, his fingers digging into the back of Dark’s neck. “Darkiplier gave to the Host, he gave a portion of his strength when the Host was discontinued. The Host will not let him  _die_.”

Another wave of dull, tingling pain swept through Dark’s body and he murmured softly – not words, meaningless sounds – before stiffening and whining stringently as the dull ache became a burn. He could sense the Host tensing with him, riding out the wave. It seemed to last for millennia, but it could only have been seconds before it eased again. He only had so many of those waves left before they dragged him down and drowned him.

Blinking again was a struggle, but golden light in his peripheral vision inspired Dark to persist at it. He let his lazy gaze trail downward, slowly processing the sight of the golden threads Host was weaving around the both of them. As if sensing Dark’s lack of understanding, the Host pressed him closer, so tightly that he may very well fracture him if he wasn’t careful.

“The Host has power yet,” he growled. “Mark gave him this power, but Darkiplier…Dark showed him how to use it. Dark feels strength returning to him. He feels life returning to his aura. He feels the beat of his heart evening, pumping him full of the determination, the courage, the anger, that makes him who he is. He doesn’t—” The Host faltered slightly, trying to catch his breath. “The Host can share his life force with his friend, i-if Dark will accept it…He  _must_ accept it. He cannot die.”

“H-h…Host…” 

“What more,” the Host hissed, “What more can the Host possibly give but what Dark has given him? What more can he give to bring him back?” The Host ducked his head suddenly, making a strangled, agonized noise that Dark didn’t quite register. Taking a hurried breath, he tightened his hold, earning a sudden crack.

Dark gasped at the sound, jerking violently as a sharp pain in his ribs forced him to straighten. The Host didn’t seem to care about the pain he was causing as his grip on Dark’s back grew impossibly tighter, the strands of reality cutting into the skin of his hands, bleeding them. It was as if he was trying to absorb Dark into himself – or was it the opposite? 

“The Host…won’t let him give up,” he growled, and his voice was different this time – burning with clear, deadly menace. “He will hurt him if he must. Dark has done no less to the Host—he’s bruised him, he’s broken his bones, while saying that the pain makes him  _stronger_. They will fight past their weaknesses together.” Dark felt him swallow hard before concluding through gritted teeth, “ _Dark…promised…_ ”

The idea of a promise was a threat in and of itself. The Host was  _threatening_ him and somehow the notion came to Dark that whatever the Host may do to him to  _prevent_ his death may be worse than the death itself. Somehow…by sheer will, with the thin, weak air he had left in his lungs, Dark laughed at that. 

It sounded more like a cough, a sputtering wheeze, but it made the Host’s grip still, unsure of what the sound meant. Even so, Dark leaned into him, letting his forehead press into the Host’s shoulder. He kept laughing. The threads of reality brightened, so beautifully gold that they were almost white. Air returned to his lungs, fueling his laughter. He felt warm and cold and everything in between at once, his red and blue blending into an off-purple aura as he let the Host pour power into him. 

Somehow, by the end of it, both of them ended up on the floor again, half-crouching, half kneeling, tangled up around each other…Dark revitalized, the Host weakened. They shared a breath – as Dark inhaled, the Host exhaled, and vice versa for the next. 

“What has become of you?” Dark whispered at length, lightly tapping the side of the Host’s head with his own. “So foolishly codependent.”

“As if Dark expected him to stand idly by,” the Host slurred in return, brushing a few bloody fingers against his closest knee. “And Dark is o-one to talk. He would have given up.”

Dark offered no response to that except to lean his head against the Host’s a second time. He kept it there as they shared another quiet breath…another…another…and another…recapturing the rhythm.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's not aware of the insanity that happened on Tumblr today, Mark decided to announce that Dark and Wilford were DEAD. 100,000 reblogs on his post would bring them back, but he set a time limit without telling anyone. 56,000 reblogs in, he said our time was up and that we were "too little, too late". His Tumblr icon of Warfstache disappeared and for the first time in three months, his Who Killed Markiplier account came back online.
> 
> Needless to say, it's been an emotionally compromising, anxiety-inducing day. I decided to write this to fight back because Mark, please, stop setting your fandom on fire! D: 
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed anyway; feel free to leave a kudos or a comment to tell me what you thought because I'd love to hear from you (and I need someone to freak out with over how insane Mark's been acting lately ;3;)


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